


Living On My Own

by nandonman



Series: Destroy Me [5]
Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: ANGST TIME, Background Sam/Ashley, Bittersweet, But Matt died, Character Study, Emily left, F/F, Gen, Josh Lives, Matt and Jess find Josh in the mine, Ok maybe more than slight, Other, Slight Mr. Robot influences, So did Chris
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:01:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23507293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nandonman/pseuds/nandonman
Summary: Sometimes I feel trapped, like I'm back in that damn mine.The air begins to cool and the hairs on my arm jump up. I can't close my eyes. But no matter how hard I look around me, dark or light, I can never see it all. I can never know for sure.Am I safe?You know. You always know.And that's why I don't feel so alone.
Relationships: Josh Washington/Josh Washington, Josh Washington/Original Character(s), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Destroy Me [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1679794
Comments: 6
Kudos: 6





	Living On My Own

**Author's Note:**

> It's angst central bb
> 
> Trigger warnings: violent self harm, trapped in a space, hospitalization
> 
> Words in /slashes/ are meant to be italicized.

"Y'know, when I envisioned being recorded, it wasn't like this."

Josh sat slumped against the cool, metal folding chair set up at the table of the makeshift interrogation room. He thought himself wearing a grin--confusing for the cops in front of him, for sure--but instead his face was blown, exhausted, worn, and still with that bit of a panicked edge to it. Regardless, he remained difficult to read--as intended--with a blank stare and an inability for his body to hold his head up properly. His head rested against the chair as he looked straight forward at the table in front of him.

"Please answer the question, Mr. Washington."

"Right.

Uh, what was it again?"

The man in front of him--older, bald with a rustic beard and intense eyes--calmly laid it out again for him.  
"Your friend said another boy named Matt was with her when they found you. What happened to him?"

Josh swallowed. He remembered it. He remembered watching from behind a half-collapsed post, holding completely still as his friend was tackled to the ground and ripped in shreds. Pressure in his ears. Jessica's soft blond hair floating from the wind coming in above them, a sharp contrast to her dead silent, dead still form.

"Oh," he said. "He died."

"And what happened to cause th--"

"He just--he just died. Ok? He's gone. I saw it. He's dead."

The man interrogating him paused, wrote a few words down on a sticky note, then looked back up at him.

"Alright. One last question, Mr. Washington, and we'll be in touch."

Josh nodded, not having anything else left in him.

The interrogator shifted in his seat and laid his hands back upon the table, eyes still staring into him, searching . . .  
"Did you know the man who lived on the mountain before your family? The native."

Josh closed his eyes but quickly opened them again, a surge of adrenaline pumping through his body almost as if offended by the mere thought of sleep.  
"No, siree. Should I've?"

"Your friends all account for him helping defend them against . . . these 'wendigos.' They say he died, but only according to the word of your friend Chris."

Chris.

"Mr. Washington?"

Josh's head snapped up, confused for a moment. What had they asked him?

"The man."

"Oh. Right, right. Sorry. I'm just a little . . ."

"It's alright, Mr. Washington."

A scraping sound, a chair being pushed aside. Notes taken from the table, and eye contact--always, unrelenting. He said a few words, promised to bother Josh again when he was able to answer more clearly.  
Josh looked up only after the interrogator left, leaving Josh alone with a packing camera man and himself.

Eventually, he pulled himself up and back to a bench outside of the conference room, where Ash already sat, curled in on herself.

Josh sat next to her, and Ashley quickly scanned him before retreating back into herself. No words were said. He was relieved.

\----

Two months later.

When I woke up, I had no idea where I was. Just for a second, I wondered if I was dead.  
But I wasn't.

There was a thin pillow underneath me. It was blue. The sheets were white. So were the walls.  
I was in the hospital, I remembered. I was restrained, and dosed with Benadryl. They put me in a room for misbehaving.

/Flying fists connect with the body of a nurse. Clawing at several pairs of arms. Screaming./

*Correction. They /locked/ me in a room for misbehaving.

I tried the door again, but to no avail. There was no window, so I did the next best thing. I knocked, and I kept knocking, expecting someone to at least try to shut me up. But no one came.  
I walked back into the room, rubbing at my eyes as the world around me came in and out of focus.

I wish you had been there. But you weren't.

It was only a few minutes before I was back, pounding on the heavy wood and shouting for somebody, anybody, to let me out because /I'm awake! I'm awake, now let me out!/  
Behind me, the air had chilled. It was impossibly cold in that room, yet every few seconds I would feel the hot breath of a tall, gangling creature behind me. I panicked. I pounded on that fucking door until my knuckles bruised, while behind me I saw it--Hannah. Outside the window, staring at me. It started pounding on the glass, in sync with my own desperate thuds on the door. I felt the sound reverberate through my chest, and my body felt impossibly hollow. Empty. Light enough to grab without pause, to raise to meet a pair of horrible pale eyes, pale eyes of /my sister/--

But then they came. The door opened and I was dragged out, threatened with more medicine, more of those sleepy time pills, but I didn't want them--I /wouldn't/ take them. I needed to be out. I needed Michael--Zack, Anna--hell, even the goddamn nurses. I just needed--I /needed/ to have someone. I couldn't be alone.

Because if I was alone, I was dead. It was simple as that.

\----

It was funny, y'know. Watching my therapist lecture me while all the while, you were there.

She asked me about my sisters. They always ask about Hannah and Beth.  
I told her I missed them. She reminded me about my father. What did that matter? He hadn't talked to me since fifth grade.  
She asked me about my friends. I told her what I was supposed to.

"I'm angry."

"Angry? For what?"

"They locked me in a goddamn shed. I nearly died!"

"And yet you don't seem to be angry at them."

Oh. She was good.

I leaned against the arm of the couch, head resting against my propped up fist as I glanced around her office. It was oddly neat--not that it was unexpected of her, but rather it was aesthetically . . . disturbing. It was clean. Too clean.

"We talked last week about your fear of abandonment. Now, from what I've gathered so far, I have reason to believe this fear builds on that very guilt complex you seem to have taken upon yourself."

"I don't have a guilt complex."

That was a lie. When the words left my lips, I remembered Friday.  
Crying against my bedroom door, grasping a kitchen knife. I screamed when it entered my leg. There was blood everywhere, but I dragged the knife anyway. It hurt.

Dr. Cunnigham gave me a look, and I crossed my left leg over the other. She didn't know, but I did it anyway. 

"That may have been a bad term. My point is, I believe that the blame you put on yourself for what happened--what continues to happen--prevents you from taking the necessary steps to deal with your fears and anxieties. That is why I would like to discuss with you your guilt, in greater depth."

I tapped my fingers on the couch.

"Look, doc, I really don't think the anxiety's as bad as it used to be. I mean, it's been a year. I've learned to cope."

You helped me with that, friend.

Dr. Cunnigham didn't seem to agree, but she didn't comment, instead pulling out a planner and asking me about doing a Wednesday next week. I didn't need to check. It was fine.

\----

The following Monday, I got a text from Sam.

:/Hey, you busy? Ash and I are thinking about getting the gang together again for a movie./:

:/What movie?/:

:/Does it matter? Cmon, we miss you/:

I dropped my phone, instead opting to grab at my head from my place on the bathroom floor. There was no reason to be in here, besides the fact that I felt like I couldn't move.

'It hit you hard this time, didn't it?'

I scoffed. "You could say that."

You didn't know what to do. Neither did I. There were scraps of toilet paper about the floor, some coated in blood and others tears and snot and what-not. I should really clean that up.

'Not yet. You don't have the strength to stand.'

"You know me so well," I smiled, closing my eyes and letting my head rest against the wall.

I saw you then. Behind my eyes, in the darkness. You were so beautiful, and yet so intimidating. Brown eyes and dark skin. And that gaze . . . all seeing, always telling me when to run and when to stay. You made me feel safe.  
And I loved you for it.

**Author's Note:**

> Dang i really lost my train of thought on this one. Let me know if ur interested in a rewrite


End file.
